


The Guy Who Came in from the Cold

by kissofcinnamon



Category: Leverage, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissofcinnamon/pseuds/kissofcinnamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two loners decide they've had enough of being lonely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guy Who Came in from the Cold

Eliot was awake long before he moved. Long before his breathing changed. Long before he even considered opening his eyes. He lay still, keeping the tension from his body with practiced effort and sheer will, his muscles loose but ready as he listened in the preternatural stillness of the room. Something had triggered the alertness that was as much a part of him as the beating of his heart or his growl. Someone. To anyone watching, even the most observant, it appeared he was still asleep on the double bed-size bunk built into the wall, open only at the front. Not even when he finally moved to curl his fingers around the hilt of his knife was it obvious, the pillow hiding his actions.

When he moved, it was a blur of motion, his body launching in the air, using the lip of the niche that was his bedroom to dive into the middle of the room and come up in a combatant's crouch. The glint of moonlight off of the steel blade in his hand was a grim reminder to whoever had made it in through his defenses that he wasn't an easy target.

Turning in a circle, still low to the ground, he finally found the man hiding all too well in the shadows near the door. He'd have to do something about that when this was over.

Eliot's breath leaked out in a slow, measured exhale. He stood and shook his head, flipping the Ka-Bar in his hand before throwing it without looking at the scarred practice board he'd mounted when he'd moved into the old industrial loft. "That's a good way to get yourself hurt real bad," he finally said, padding over to his refrigerator for two bottles of the first craft beer Hardison and Parker had gotten right.

Barton smiled slightly, quiet for a while as he watched Eliot's graceful prowl. Finally, "I've been watching you through the skylight for an hour. You're slipping." He settled into one of the two overstuffed chairs in what passed for a sitting area. "Look at you. Furniture. You're getting damn right domestic."

"Fuck you," Eliot answered, no heat in the obscene directive.

"You first," Barton answered, still smiling, clinking his bottle with Eliot's and settling deeper into the chair.

"I'm not available," Eliot said simply, cutting off any recruiting talk at the knees.

"We know. I think Fury's actually given up on you."

"Good."

"I haven't given up on you."

"You should," Eliot says quietly, staring at the sweating bottle in his hand. "How's Natasha?"

"Ouch."

Eliot slanted a glance his way and shrugged. "Call 'em like I see 'em."

"She's not you. Never was. Never will be."

Eliot let that sit in the air around them for a bit. "Why did you come?"

"Got tired of being alone in a crowd."

"Bullshit." Eliot's tone is harsh and short. He doesn't have time for lies. "You live for that shit. You've always liked to watch from above. From apart. You're worse than Parker."

The room is quiet again. Pregnant with silent regret.

"That was before I finally found out what it was like not to be alone."

The quiet confession had Eliot closing his eyes, heat curling in his belly in remembrance.

"Time to come in from the cold," Barton added softly.

Getting up, Eliot set his bottle down, his movements slow and deliberate. The hand he held out, palm down, trembled slightly as Barton took it. Maybe it was time for both of them to get warm.


End file.
